Coffee Shop Lull
by LadyRiona
Summary: When you're the manager of a coffee shop, you're allowed to keep secrets, right? Even if the customer really seems...well...out of this world and quite from another?


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the story _Inkheart_, and am in no way affiliated with the author, and not consciously aware of knowing any of her acquaintances. However, all characters except the obvious do belong to me. Melissa and Emily are real people.

**Author's Note:** So my first _Inkheart_ fic. Please be kind. It took first (and the only) place in a contest on the forum I co-administrate (Novice Writers . net). The challenge for the contest was a self-insertion, and I immediately had this idea. So. With that said, on to technicalities: assuming that the story literally started in Germany is just that, an assumption. It seemed plausible to me, so if you have any proof of where Mo lived when the story began, pass it along. Otherwise, I take my creativity and have fun.  
**  
Rating: K  
Timeline: Three days after Mo reads Capricorn, Basta, and Dustfinger (and Gwin) out of the book  
Pairings: None  
Oneshot (or maybe...)  
Summary: When you're a manager of a coffee shop, you're allowed to keep secrets, right?**

* * *

It was the slowest time of the day in the little coffee shop. Only two customers sat in booths, each sipping a freshly refilled mug of coffee. Soft, jazzy tunes slipped from speakers hidden decoratively near potted plants or high in a corner. The music made the lull of business seem slower than it actually was, but not in an agonizing way at all; in fact, it was rather relaxing. Strong rays of afternoon sunlight fell through the large pane windows, illuminating the building better than the overhead lights could. The lighting also added to the respite.

Melissa, a manager of the coffee shop, wiped down a counter at the bar, even though it was already immaculate. The period of downtime could last up to three hours, most days; it had been going on long enough that the entire shop was practically gleaming. The trash was emptied; the counters and work spaces were shining; everything was stocked; the floors were clean; and there was fresh coffee in all of the carafes. Melissa was grateful for the opportunity to clean; it made closing that much easier, although it did become boring after a while.

When she felt she'd wiped the counter enough, she looped the rag around a cupboard handle, ready for someone else to use. Melissa surveyed the only two customers, regulars. She decided they were fine, so she stepped halfway into the back area of the café. "I'm taking my break now," she announced to her two coworkers. They were making some of the desserts served in the shop. "There are only two people out there."

"All right," one of them, a slightly older woman acknowledged. "Take your time. We can handle it." She gestured to the man who was mixing some chocolate concoction across a stainless steel island.

Melissa smiled at them and took her travel mug and a lunchbox off of the counter next to the door. "I'll be up front; there's some papers I need to go over." With that, she stepped out to the front of the café once more and walked over to a front corner booth, near the door. Stashed inside, there was a small, canvas travel bag, containing the previously mentioned papers and a laptop. When Melissa sat down next to the window, she shivered; the glass was cold.

It was winter in Germany. That meant it was steadily around freezing point the majority of the time in a small town near Cologne, give or take a few degrees. There was usually a wind-chill factor to make it feel even colder. No one left their houses without bundling up in gloves and warm coats. If it had been snowing lately, then boots were usually included. Regardless, not many people spent time outdoors for too long without at least a coat.

Melissa had been working on her papers for quite a few minutes, enough to have drained half of her travel thermos of its contents. They were the usual things a manager looked over: items for stock, payroll, income, and the like. She was just finishing the papers on payroll when something, or rather someone, caught her attention. A man was standing outside near the door of the shop with his arms wrapped around his chest, as if that could ward off the winter chill, and was shivering visibly. He was clad in a slightly faded red tunic and, from what Melissa could see, black pants. They hardly looked thick enough to even try keeping him warm. There was a backpack he had slung over one shoulder that looked about as travel-worn as its carrier. If she looked carefully enough, she could tell the man himself had a few days' growth of stubble on his chin and his long ginger-colored hair looked matted. Once again, Melissa noted that he was shivering fiercely.

Compassion filled her heart as she slid from her booth. Homeless people seldom went through the town, and when they did, the church or soup kitchen would put them up for a few days. Melissa wondered why this man hadn't sought out either of those places. Being the kindhearted person she tried to be most of the time, she figured she should probably give him some coffee. She would also call the soup kitchen to see if they had space for one more over the next few days.

The bell at the top of the door jingled as she opened it, stepping outside. The man turned around abruptly, apparently surprised at the noise. Melissa smiled kindly at him. "Come inside," she told him, stepping to one side. "It's quite a bit warmer in there."

The man looked at her hesitantly, still shivering and clutching his arms, before stepping inside very slowly. He looked to be rather ill-at-ease indoors. In fact, that seemed even more so as he turned around in a few circles, as if trying to place or find something. When Melissa caught sight of his face again, he seemed extremely confused. Vaguely, she wondered why.

"Have a seat over here." Melissa gestured to the booth she'd previously occupied. "I'll fix you some coffee. Would you like something to eat?"

Once again, the man was hesitant as he looked at the table. Her papers and laptop were still spread over it. He had just slid into the booth when he looked up at her again. This time, he looked a little lost. "I don't have any way to pay for it," he mumbled, looking around again.

"That's all right. I'll cover it." Melissa gave him another smile then went behind the counter. The café not only sold desserts, but also hot food, like soup. She figured that would be best. Carefully, she filled a bowl with steaming soup then carried it, along with a mug of coffee, over to the table. With just as much care as carrying it, she placed it in front of the man then resumed her place across from him.

He inspected the soup for only a few seconds before beginning to ingest it. It was rather hot, but he didn't seem to care. Melissa stacked up her papers, shut down the laptop, and put everything back into the carrying case. She could go over them later. For some reason, this person seemed, if not familiar, then extremely interesting.

"How long have you been in town?" she asked him when he seemed to have slowed down eating.

The man looked at her uncertainly, as if wondering whether or not he should answer the question. "About three days," he told her. There was a Scottish brogue coating his words. Why was a Scot all the way down in Germany?

"We have a soup kitchen, you know; they'd be glad to put you up for a few days." Melissa took a sip of her coffee; it was slowly cooling down…

He didn't say anything for a few moments after finishing the soup. He was surveying the mug of coffee, curiosity touching his face. He took a sip of it cautiously then appeared as if he wanted to spit it out again. He didn't, though, and forced himself to swallow it. Melissa watched this with growing interest.

When the man said nothing about the soup kitchen, Melissa shrugged. Over the years of her life, she'd learned to know when it was all right to ask questions and when it wasn't all right. There was just something about the person that screamed the answer to that preference. This man seemed to be one of those that shouldn't be questioned too much. For one, he seemed extremely stressed and confused. Melissa wondered if maybe he'd hit his head and had amnesia. He could have been anybody in that case, and not know it. Melissa didn't see any bumps on his head from the front, though it could have been in the back or even healed already. Or he could just be a dazed and confused person.

No, there was nothing on his face that gave him away as someone in particular. Now that she had a chance to survey him more, she noticed three pale scars on his face, two on one cheek and one on the other. That seemed to strike a bell in her head, but she couldn't figure out why. She was positive that they'd never met before; she definitely would have remembered his face. Those scars were just too blatant to forget or not notice. She also would have recognized his accent; she had a knack for them.

His eyes were another striking thing about him. It wasn't that they were brilliantly colored or anything. On the contrary, they looked so empty and desolate. They looked like the man could fall apart at any moment. His physique said something similar. He was thin; too thin for a man of his height. Melissa thought if she blew air at him too hard, he might fall over and break. She was about to stand to refill his mug of soup when she realized that he had left chunks of vegetables and meat in the soup mug, and was dropping them into his backpack. Upon closer surveillance of this oddity, Melissa saw a furry nose appear from inside the pack, take the chunks of food with needle-like teeth, then disappear once more.

She just barely muffled a gasp, staring pointedly at the bag. "W…What is that?" she asked quietly, clearly startled.

When the man realized she had noticed his actions, he colored slightly. "Sorry. My friend hasn't had good hunting lately," he muttered, carefully dropping another piece of meat into his backpack. "His name is Gwin; he'll stay in the bag."

Gwin. Why was that so familiar? Melissa felt like she should be able to associate that name to something small, furry, and equipped with pointy teeth. She forced her mouth shut until she knew she would manage words over still-shocked sounds. "Good," she said at last. She glanced around the shop; the two customers seemed not to have even noticed the man. Melissa was breaking a lot of rules as a manager, but she didn't have to tell anyone else, so long as her coworkers stayed in the back… "Would you like more coffee, or soup?" she asked, quickly changing the subject. Sure, she wanted to know what was in his bag, but she knew she shouldn't ask.

The man shook his head. "You've been kind enough," he told her, looking around the shop again as though expecting something or someone to jump out from a potted plant and attack him. "Thank you, very much." He slid from the booth and bowed so low, he probably would have hit the table if he'd been close enough.

Once more, Melissa's jaw dropped. No one bowed in courtesy anymore. There was something extremely peculiar about this person, and she felt like she was about to figure it out. She probably would have if he hadn't exited the building so quickly. When Melissa stepped out of the café to at least offer him a coffee to go, he had practically disappeared. The man was nowhere to be found.

----------------

The café closed at six, just like every other shop. Most people had families to go home to see and dinner to eat. When Melissa returned to the apartment she shared with her best friend, it was close to seven. There would probably be food waiting for her, or in the refrigerator waiting to be reheated. Melissa wasn't interested in food at that moment, which was unusual since she was usually starving after work. No, she was interested in something else. It left a slightly dumbfounded expression on her face.

Working on autopilot, she set her purse on a small table near the door, set her laptop bag and lunch items on the floor nearby, and kicked off her shoes. Her hands fumbled as she shut the door and flicked the lock on it, leaning back carefully.

She couldn't believe it. There was no doubt about it, but Melissa had still checked her books, just to be sure. How convenient that she'd had a copy of _Inkheart_ in her car? Why hadn't she recognized it at first? She should have realized things first off.

The TV was on quietly, but Melissa could still hear the broadcast. She let it fill her head briefly, but the words didn't really process, not with everything else going on between her ears.

"Recent reports," the news anchor was saying, "show that two men are the only suspects in the recent burglaries in southwest Germany. Eyewitnesses have described them as tall and pale, one with light hair and the other with dark. Police are advising residents to keep their doors locked, since these men are armed with knives."

The news was too depressing to listen to for long.

Slowly, Melissa walked to the couch and sat beside her friend. She drew her knees up with her and leaned on the arm, staring at the wall. Emily looked at her, wearing a nonplussed expression. "Busy day at work?" she asked. "You look like a zombie or something."

Melissa simply shrugged. "Not today. Today was normal," she said, knowing she wasn't very convincing. Her voice still held a note of shock. "There was this one thing, though."

The tone she had, the hint of knowing something interesting, grabbed Emily's attention, making her cease her typing abruptly. Emily was a recently published author, and her novel was doing extremely well. Since her first story was a done deal, she had the freedom to work on many other projects, hoping for one to end up finished soon to be published. "Oh?" She did nothing to hide the intrigue in her voice. "And what would that be?"

With an incredulous grin, Melissa closed her eyes and relaxed against the couch. She allowed the memory, however brief it had been, to replay in her mind. "This guy came into the café—"

Emily snickered and gave her a playful shove. "Oh, oh, did you get his number?" she asked, excitedly.

With a slightly embarrassed laugh, Melissa shook her head. "Shut up. It wasn't like that." She returned the push to Emily's arm, still grinning. When she calmed again, she looked at her friend seriously. "He was really mysterious, actually. It was probably his accent; I'm fairly sure it was Scottish. Anyway; he was tall, had longish ginger hair, and he had these scars on his face." She traced them on her own cheeks with her fingertips. "They were really, really pale and thin, but they just stood out, you know? You couldn't miss them." She shrugged and folded her hands together in her lap.

"Then this eyes," she mumbled, beginning once more. "They were just so sad looking. He looked like his heart was broken, like he'd lost all hope." She paused then looked at Emily once more. "He really didn't seem to belong here, if you know what I mean. He wasn't dressed at all for the weather anywhere in Germany, and what he was wearing was really…folky. That's the only word I can think of for it. It was just really weird. He even had this thing…a _marten_ in his backpack."

Silence passed between them for a few minutes before Emily began typing something on her laptop. When she stopped, she asked, "Mind if I use him in a story? He sounds like an awesome character."

Melissa gave a shake of her head, smiling dolefully. "Sorry. He's already been used," she said very casually. She slid from the couch and stretched. Before walking off, she looked at her friend and finally grinned, "That was Dustfinger, from _Inkheart_."

With that, she walked off with a bounce in her step toward her bedroom. What an interesting day she'd had. It was very tempting to believe it hadn't happened at all, that she'd fallen asleep reading over the store income records. After all, those papers were extremely boring. She hadn't dreamed meeting Dustfinger, though. She'd washed the dishes he'd used later on before closing up shop.

She didn't know how, why, or what had even allowed it, but she'd met a fictional character who didn't seem to be so fictional anymore. The only sad thing was that no one would believe her when she said it.


End file.
